12:39am (which is really 2:39am according to my internal clock)
The role of ‘weary traveler’ this evening will be played by me. No, it’s not like I crossed the country in a covered wagon fighting disease and rabid wolves in search of gold, but having left my home twelve hours ago for the New Orleans International Airport then passing through the Bermuda Triangle (also known as the Phoenix Sky Harbor International Airport) on my way to San Francisco has worn these false-sense-of-entitlement, 21st century bones out. Plus, I just settled into my rollaway bed/exercise mat for some much needed sleep, but all I can hear is the tromping around of heavy feet (one in high heels and one in sneakers) of the two people who just returned home to their hardwood-floored residence ten feet above my head. And I’m pretty sure they have a dog, unless the baby talk I’m hearing is being directed at each other. Dear God, please have a dog … and take off your shoes … and go to bed!
I hate the people upstairs.
Anyway … our first flight, the long one from NOLA to Phoenix, was uneventful. I managed to tear through two People magazines (Thanks to Kelly, my neighbor and overseer of all things Milo while we’re gone) and even read some of my book. I’m finally getting to Jenny’s Lawson Let’s Pretend this Never Happened. (Totally captivating so far, Jenny … in a rubbernecking-past-a-traffic-accident, can’t-help-but-smell-the-spoiled-milk-one-more-time kind of way!)
And then we arrived in Phoenix. Our feet had barely left the habitrail tube from the plane when we heard and saw the announcement. Our plane was already delayed two and a half hours. “And,” said the ‘lady’ on the PA system, “don’t go wandering off from the gate because, if you miss your flight, you can’t come crying to me!”
She loves to fly … and it shows.
So, we kept one foot at the gate and pivoted with the other to get such airport delicacies as pizza, sandwiches and (almost) a $5 bottle of Naked Juice. I put it back as soon as the cashier (who apparently is required to do so) alerted me of its price. “Go get a soda instead,” I said to my girl, like any good mother would. And, since eating took all of 15 minutes, I occupied the other two+ hours with electronics (thanks to everyone who played the #PhoenixNameGame on Twitter with me), window shopping the snacks, power walking the 30 feet of carpet area and, of course, alcohol. One glass. One $12 glass of cheap airport Merlot.
Then, we were finally called to board our plane for San Francisco. The flight length was only half as long as the first but they made up for it with double the turbulence. Which for me apparently drowned out the announcement that, because of our air travel inconvenience, the drinks would be free on the flight. Stupid, stupid me and my Diet Coke. Sigh. My girl and I passed the time chatting with the third person in our seating pod. She was a nice person with whom I found myself talking about how the movie When A Stranger Calls scared the crap out of me in no time. I took that as a good sign. And she liked cats so she and my girl also had lots to talk about. We might even be going to a special event as her guests on Friday. (No, I’m not Ferris Bueller or anything, but it could be fun.)
And, before we knew it … and our plane circled the runway three or four times … we landed at San Francisco International Airport, grabbed our bags and all jumped into a limo together. (Yes, I said limo. Okay, fine. Maybe I AM Ferris Bueller.) We arrived at our condo in the city, we’re FINALLY settled and now I need to go to bed. I think I might just be the only one up. I mean, except for the people upstairs.
Have I mentioned that I hate them?
I’ll check in again tomorrow at some point … after lots and lots of sleep. Oh, but before I go, I was thumbing through Sky Mall when I found this little innovation. What do y’all think? Is Milo up for the task?
It’s 2012. Shouldn’t ALL cats be doing this by now?
OldDogNewTits 